


Consequences

by Alicethrutheburrows



Series: Fork in the road [2]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Bottom Cas, Complete, Cop!Dean, Dom/sub Undertones, Journalist!Cas, Killer!Dean, M/M, Minor Moose Warning, Porn with plot sprinkles, Sassy Cas is my favorite, Sequel, Stalker!Cas, Talks of Killing, Top Dean, morbid fluff, sassy cassy, slightly domestic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-23
Updated: 2019-09-23
Packaged: 2020-10-26 10:30:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,245
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20740766
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Alicethrutheburrows/pseuds/Alicethrutheburrows
Summary: Cas leaned up on his elbows with his chin resting on his open palm “So, what happens now?” All scenarios for this breaking and entering had gone out the window the moment he awoke strung up in Dean’s murder basement. Cas also noticed this morning his cell phone nowhere in sight, surely disposed of so he was lost. Lost for time, had he been asleep for the night or days, lost in mind, his fantasies failing to live up to real life, but mostly lost in Dean’s gaze.





	Consequences

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! This story is a follow-up to my ficlet Choices. If you don't feel like reading it, you can read this one with knowing two things, Cas is Dean's stalker and Dean is a serial killer. Almost everything else can be inferred through reading. Someone passionately asked me for more after reading Choices, and who am I to deny such a request? So without further ado welcome down my rabbit hole, where the further you fall the darker it goes. XOXO Alice
> 
> P.s. As always this was not beta'd so any typos, misspellings, and grammar errors are my own.
> 
> UPDATE: this work has been redone and beta'd *cries* by callmekrowley, who has made this trash readle. Thank you so much.

### 

_Hunter or Prey?_

Consequences: the aftermath of making a choice or series of choices. For Castiel the consequences of his choices were always secondary. Consequences were a silly concept to him. Rather than dwell on the future, he lived for now. The kind of now that included him padding into Dean’s kitchen for breakfast.

Pulling out the oak chair and getting himself comfortable at the oak table, his eyes wandered the kitchen, deciding it was still overly boring before landing on Dean swaying his hips slightly while humming no doubt something Led Zeppelin. Castiel drank in the sight. The soft well-loved AC/DC t-shirt and checkered pajama pants looked not only comfy, but beautiful. Beautiful in a way that a woman is beautiful without make-up, when she is smiling like honest soul-deep smiling—raw and unfiltered. Splintered sunlight from the kitchen window illuminated Dean’s face; he was stunning up-close. Castiel figured he could take a million pictures right now and not one would capture an ounce of the radiance of the man before him. 

The smell of bacon wafted through the room. Flicking his eyes from Dean to the plate of mouth-watering food in Dean’s hand, a plate of bacon and eggs appeared in front of him in tandem with his stomach growling. Dean shot him a smug look while shoveling a fork full of eggs into his face.

“See you decided to stay.” Dean smirked, his mouth still full of food. Cas rolled his eyes at his antics. What a man-child. 

“It was a rhetorical decision Dean,” Cas said, trying his eggs and humming in delight. Another surprise, Dean could cook. Trying the bacon, Cas thought about pinching himself to make sure this was real, or pinching Dean to make sure he was real. He took another bite of bacon before finishing his thought process. “You knew I wouldn’t be able to resist.”

Dean paused his eating. “What are you saying Cas? I manipulated you?”

Cas huffed. “I wasn’t aware your hearing didn’t work in the mornings.” Dean chuckled at Cas’ grumpy tone, ignoring the sarcasm. 

“Hate to break it to you sweetheart, but lying and manipulation is a part of life. That’s how you become president,” Dean said, standing and moving to the kitchen counter in search of the God’s nectar. Cas tilted his head; Dean’s logic was sound. 

Dean held the pot of coffee up and Cas inclined his head, indicating he’d like some as well before saying, “Dean Winchester, are you saying the president is a sociopath?”

Dean handed him a mug of coffee saying, “I’m saying I’d be worried if he wasn’t,” then settling back into his chair to sip at his own mug. Dean let out a satisfied sigh after the first sip, no doubt the caffeine touching his soul like it was Cas’. Setting his mug down, Dean resumed his food—shoveling, which Cas shook his head at whilst quietly rapping his fingers against the table. 

His word to mouth filter was apparently still damaged, for the word came spilling out fondly as he watched Dean inhale the last of his breakfast. “Atrocious.”

Dean smiled with his mouth still slightly filled with bits of egg and then faster than a lightning strike he stuck a kitchen knife between Cas’ fingers, missing the digits by mere centimeters. 

Without flinching or hesitating Cas said, “Funny,” then took a big sip of his coffee before fixing his eyes on Dean. Dean flashed Cas a predatory smile as he plucked the knife out of the table and laid it back down beside his plate.

Dean scoffed after a minute, unamused with Cas’ lack of response. “I’m hilarious,” he said, which had Cas rolling his eyes for the second time that morning. He had always been told rolling his eyes too much would cause them to stay that way, and with being in Dean’s company, he was beginning to wonder if the rumor was true. Dean finished his breakfast and wiped his face on a napkin before sitting back in his chair. Cas mirrored his actions and for the first time since they met, they fell into a comfortable silence, both men sated and full. 

Cas leaned up on his elbows with his chin resting on his open palm. “So, what happens now?” All scenarios for this breaking and entering Cas had previously imagined had gone out the window the moment he awoke strung up in Dean’s murder basement. Cas also noticed this morning that his cell phone nowhere in sight, surely disposed of so he was lost. Cas was lost for time, had he been asleep for the night or day? Lost in his mind, his fantasies failing to live up to real life, but he was mostly lost in Dean’s gaze. 

Dean cast his eyes down, running a hand through his hair, an action Cas noticed was a nervous tick much like his nail biting, before answering honestly, “I, um, don’t know.” Dean took a breath and exhaled slowly, flicking his eyes up to meet Cas.’ “This has never happened to me before.” 

“A first for us both, then.” Cas pressed forward despite Dean’s huffing. “Do you wish to talk about it?”

“What are you, Dr. Phil?” 

“I’m no doctor, nor do I know who this Dr. Phil is, but I do know this”—Cas motioned between them—“is uncharted waters.” 

“So, what? We talk, then what, huh? We braid each other’s hair and frolic through a field, and everything is rainbows and unicorns?” Dean’s abrasiveness was understandable. Neither man expected to be sitting across the table from the other this morning. 

“Dean,” Cas chastised lightly. 

“I have no idea what I’m doing Cas. I never been this… this—” 

“This stupid? Reckless? Idiotic?” Cas said, finishing Dean’s sentence. Dean licked his lips before nodding and running a hand through his hair again. It was a wonder he had any left with way he played with it. Cas could feel Dean’s heavy gaze searching his face like he had done last night. Cas smiled, causing Dean to return his smile in earnest. They were turning out to be quite the pair. A stalker and a killer sat down for breakfast—it sounded like the set-up to a bad joke. 

After a beat both men shifted away from the heavy eye-fucking, adjusting themselves in their respective chairs. Oh. The gravity of the situation hit Cas like a wrecking ball; he had been working on a high-profile piece before his little detour adventure. Cas silently cursed karma. Of course, possibly the best thing to happen to him could be the worst thing for his career. His editor, Michael, aka Heavenly Times resident douche, was bound to skin him. Cas let out a heavy sigh. Maybe Dean will finish him after all, for he’d rather die at Dean’s hand than deal with Michael’s pompous bitching. 

Breaking the silence, Cas said, “Dean, I need to call my editor.” Dean instantly stiffened, the weight of the situation no doubt hitting Dean as it had Cas a moment ago. The comfortable easiness between them evaporated. A blank slate replaced his smile, eyes hard while examining Cas’ face. Cas could kick himself for his lack of social cue awareness. 

Fiddling with his forgotten coffee mug, Cas tried to explain himself, more so to ease Dean’s mind than his own. “Dean, trust me.” Cas stopped his ministrations to lean forward on his elbows. “I don’t want to leave—actually, you might never get rid of me—but I was working on something time-sensitive before my little detour, and while I’d rather leave my asshole boss in the dark, this piece is important. The call is merely superficial.” 

Dean crossed his arms, quirking an eyebrow. “So, I’m not the only one you stalk?” He asked, his sarcasm’s bark worse than its bite. 

“Yes and no,” Cas said, the answer earning him a soft snarl. An almost jealous bordering possessive expression flashed through Dean’s eyes._ Cute_, Cas thought. If Dean wasn’t wound so tight, he might have chuckled. Instead he swallowed and led with honesty, for it hadn’t failed him yet. “Yes, because you are the only one I stalk personally in my free time, and no, because I am a journalist, I stalk society’s worst. Criminals, corrupt politicians, occasionally an angry soccer mom.” 

Dean stared at the sore rose-colored marks on Cas’s wrists, almost entranced. His eyes followed the natural contours of Cas’s body, starting at his wrist up his biceps up further to his lips to finally landing on his ocean blues. Something was on his mind; Cas assumed Dean was searching for the right words or maybe he was regretting everything leading up to this point. 

“And…” Dean trailed off, causing Cas to blink. 

“And?” Cas said. “Are you asking me if I’m good at my job? Depends on your definition of success.” Cas shrugged. “I’m well published, and up until last night, Dean, you had no idea you had a stalker, so I’d say I’m pretty successful.” 

Dean acted…curious. Ah curiosity, Cas’s old friend and nemesis. It seemed only natural since Cas knew everything—well, almost everything—about Dean, and until last night Castiel was a ghost in Dean’s life. A storm cloud of thoughts flooded his mind. One singular thought stood more pronounced than the others; if he opened up about himself, perhaps Dean would do the same. Where to begin though? 

Rubbing at his wrists, Castiel cleared his throat. “You asked why I hide in the shadows.” The new line of conversation caused Dean to lean forward, his curiosity even more apparent. Cas licked his lips. “I’ve always been… different.” He paused, trying to piece together his life story in the least cringey way possible. “What makes me a great journalist is the ability to read human behavior, and while I can imitate it, I don’t understand it. I don’t think or feel what people consider ‘normal,’ Dean. I find myself more comfortable behind a lens than with the general populace.” Dean hummed, eating up every word from Cas’ mouth. “I don’t feel human, it’s like I’m—” 

“Unnatural,” Dean said, finishing his sentence, a small smile on his lips. Cas nodded, feeling heard and oddly understood. Dean leaned back in his chair, tapping his fingers against the table in thought. 

“My mother died when I was four,” Dean started, staring off in the distance, “In a fire set by a serial arsonist.” 

“Oh,” Cas said. He knew the overall story but never the finer details, in a crime so old most of those details were lost to the sands of time, fallen in the cracks. 

“Turned my old man into a mean bastard. Obsessed with hunting her killer. Moved from town to town so my dad could work at any police station that would take him with his spotty work history. So, he could hunt monsters, most the time not on anyone’s radar yet. He knew what to look for, developed a taste for it.” 

Dean’s face turned stony. “I guess he loved us in his own fucked up way. Dad took me under his wing and taught me everything he knew from the moment I could hold a gun in my hand and not fall over from the kick. Killed my first animal hunting at eight. Killed my first monster with my bare hands at fourteen. Do you know how hard it is to strangle someone with your bare hands? It’s nothing like you’d expect, it’s messy and exhausting. Sam, though,” Dean’s face softened at the mention of his brother, “Sam was the best of us, never getting caught in any of this bullshit.” 

“Fascinating,” Cas said, leaning in and pondering the age-old question—were serial killers simply born that way or were they made that way? 

“Why be the hunted when you can be the hunter?” 

“You consider yourself a hunter?” 

“More like a mix of Dexter and the Punisher.” The pop culture references flew over Cas’ head. He really should get out more. He waited a second to shift the conversation; to understand the hunter one must understand his prey. 

“Huh, so the body last night?” Dean didn’t bat an eye at the question. 

“What you call a black widow. A high-end escort killing her way through her client list. Fifteen men and counting with no evidence to convict. Hiding behind powerful money.” Dean licked his lips, finally turning back to face Cas. “You see Cas, killers tend to keep tabs on other killers. Takes one to know one kind of thing. Catch one, they tend to lead you to more.” 

“Explains the basement,” Cas mused. 

Dean snorted. “I guess it does.” 

“Doesn’t explain me, though.” Cas quirked an eyebrow. Dean had been more forthcoming than he imagined. Cas knew he was testing his limits, but he wanted to know the nitty-gritty, wanted to know mostly, why him? 

“I don’t kill for pleasure, Cas. But then you wandered in here, my wet dream personified. Everything I ever wanted but never allowed to have strung up before me, saying not only that they liked me but had been stalking me.” A blush colored Dean’s cheeks as his hand carded through his hair again. 

“I do like you, Dean.” 

Dean smacked his lips, a half guilty expression on his face. “You caught me off guard with your sass and stupid smile and when you moaned after I cut you I felt chills.” Dean scrubbed a hand down his face. “I didn’t want to hurt you anymore, no, I wanted to _dominate_ you. Wanted to hear you beg and moan my name in that sinful voice of yours.” 

Cas scooted his chair closer to Dean’s so he could lean closer into the other man’s space. “And…” he trailed off. Dean copied his actions, a few meager inches separating them. A gap so small yet so wide. Cas never was one for personal space, and he leaned even closer. 

Dean swallowed, his eyes flicking between Cas’ eyes and lips, unsure which needed more attention. “And?” 

“Do you still wish to dominate me?” Cas said, edging himself half out of his seat to breathe in Dean’s air, noses all but brushing one another. 

It could have been a lifetime or a blink of an eye, for time and everything else for that matter seemed irrelevant compared to the mingling electric air between them when Dean whispered, “Yes.” 

A butterfly kiss pressed to his lips, chaste and fleeting. The bare brush of lips felt like a question, an asking of permission. Cas answered by chasing the lips that tried to draw away, his hand coming up to cup Dean’s face and pulling him back in. Dean fisted Cas’ t-shirt, deepening the second kiss. It was hungry, needy, and _devouring_. Hands traced faces, hair, necks, arms. Each touch between kiss-breaks exploratory and possessive. The flame of lust combusting in the push and pull, give and take game both raising the stakes with neither wanting to win or lose. 

Dean drew back first, absolutely breathless, so he could stand and haul Cas onto his feet. Cas flung his arms around Dean’s neck for support while Dean’s hands settled on his hips, pushing him up against the table and rattling the forgotten dishes. The table bit into Cas’ thighs—a welcome pain as heady kisses rained down on his lips, cheeks, and neck. Cas carded his fingers through those dirty dishwater locks, grabbing a nice fistful to tug on while Dean kneed his way in the space between Cas’ legs. 

They say that desire is much like drowning. It consumes every breath of air, fills your body with a heavy weight, and if you’re not careful it will swallow you whole. What a silly analogy, because Cas didn’t feel like he was drowning, he felt like he was flying. He felt completely weightless as Dean’s hands roamed his body. Both men were so utterly distracted with each other that neither one heard the back door open. 

“Dean! Where the hell have you… oh!—” Dean broke apart from Cas, both men staring at Sam like he had caught them with their hands in the cookie jar. Dean stepped back even further, giving Cas space, his face flushed and his hand combing through his hair. 

Sam quirked an eyebrow, eyes shifting between the two men, no doubt trying to put two and two together. Sam cleared his throat and crossed his arms. “So, who is this?” 

Dean licked his lips nervously, trying to put together a coherent sentence. “This is um, well, this is, uh…” Cas started counting down in his head from ten. He was going to give Dean ten seconds to make his choice before he made it for him. 

3…2…1… Cas interrupted Dean’s fumbling. “Hi, I’m Dean’s boyfriend. You must be Sam. Dean’s told me quite a bit about you,” he said, outstretching his hand for Sam to shake. The room went silent, both brothers’ mouths hanging wide open. Sam stared at Cas’ outstretched hand before shaking his head then shaking Cas’ hand. 

“Um, nice to meet you. Dean uh, hasn’t mentioned you, uh I’m sorry I didn’t catch your name?” 

“Feel free to call me Cas,” 

“Right,” Sam said with a final shake, letting go of Cas’ hand then turning to give his brother a pointed look. With a strained voice he said, “Dean, can I uh, talk to you in the other room? Please.” 

Dean looked between them before nodding. Cas turned towards Dean, squeezing his bicep in support. “I’ll clean the dishes.” Dean nodded once more at Cas then followed Sam into the living room. For a moment Cas regretted forcing Dean’s hand, being forcibly outed sucked for anyone, but Dean made his choice to keep him. So, the pang of guilt he felt evaporated as he gathered the forgotten breakfast plates, not trying to pry but the acoustics in the house were wonderful and when he stood at the sink just so he could hear every word between the two. 

“Is this what you’ve been hiding all these months?” Sam sneered. 

“Sam, I—” 

“Did you not think I would understand, Dean? Did you think I would care that you liked men? You’re my brother, I love you regardless of your sexual preferences.” 

“Sam—” 

“I get it though, with Dad. I get it. But Dean, you didn’t have to hide it from me. Hell, if he makes you happy then I’m happy.” 

“I—” 

“I’m sorry I burst in here. I was worried because you switched your schedule again and I hadn’t heard from you. I uh, didn’t mean to interrupt. He’s very handsome. But I swear to God Dean, if he hurts you, I’ll break both his legs.” 

“Sammy—” 

“Don’t Sammy me. I’m serious. Just don’t hide things from me anymore.” Cas peeked over his shoulder to see Sam bear-hugging-bordering-suffocating his older brother. He finished setting the last dish in the dish rack when they came back in the kitchen, Sam practically beaming and Dean clearly steaming. There was going to be hell to pay. 

Sam strode right up to Cas, pulling him into an awkward hug. Cas stiffened and Sam leaned down to whisper in his ear, “You hurt him, and I’ll kill you.” He wanted to chuckle, only if Sam knew. Threats held no power over Cas, but he thought better of himself not to mention that fact and held his tongue. 

Sam squeezed him tight once before finally releasing his death grip. “It was nice to meet you.” He turned to Dean. “Don’t forget to pick up your phone next time. I’d rather not have to gouge my eyes out after walking in on something…” 

“Get out of here, Bitch.” 

“Bye, Jerk!” Sam said, cackling his way out the door. Dean huffed at Sam’s exit before turning a murderous glare on Cas, his scowl scary enough to make Cas gulp. Dean stalked towards him, his expression unreadable as he latched onto Cas’ wrist. Tugging him from the kitchen through the living room up the stairs and into his bedroom, no words were exchanged until the bedroom door was shut and locked. 

Dean fisted Cas’ shirt, roughly pushing him up against the bedroom door. 

“Careful, I planned on keeping these,” Cas teased with an easy-going grin. The comment earned him a growl from Dean and Dean pushed him even harder against the door. Placing his hands on top of Dean’s, Cas pressed gently on the fingers curled in his shirt. “So, are we going to fight or make-out? Cause I’m getting mixed signals here.” 

“I don’t know whether to thank you for getting Sam off my back or take you back down to the basement for that little stunt you pulled,” Dean snarled, softly pressing his forehead against Cas’. 

“Do I get a choice? Cause either sounds fun,” Cas said, licking his lips and enjoying the weight of Dean against him trying to brush noses. A mischievous smirk tugged at Dean’s lips as he pulled away to shove Cas against the door once more in a show of control. 

“Hmmm, maybe what you need is some punishment,” Dean said, pressing himself flush against Cas, manhandling him so he could lean in to whisper in his ear. “Tell me Cas,” he said, his voice deep, “Did you ever watch me touch myself?” The question sent ripples of shivers down Cas’ spine. The brushes of heat from the ghosting of Dean’s breath on the shell of his ear already had him half hard and the images of Dean in every which way and position flashing through his mind’s eye had him downright desperate. He managed to muster a single strangled yes as an answer, aching for more. 

Teeth trailed nibbling bites starting at the earlobe, down the jawline, tracing the curve of Cas’ neck and back up in the same order. Cas moved his hands from Dean’s hands to his hips in an effort to pull him even closer, to a point where he couldn’t tell where he began, and Dean ended. Cas’ breath hitched as Dean cupped his face. 

The contradiction that is Dean Winchester might truly be the death of him. Calloused hands yet soft touches. Rough manhandling yet tender butterfly kisses. Utter confidence yet the need for reassurance. Dominating yet kind. A killer yet a lover. Each action was a new contradiction rewriting his previous knowledge. 

Pressing plush lips against his own had him trembling and leaking. At this rate, Cas was going to need to start buying boxer briefs in bulk. Dean licked his way into Cas mouth as his hands drifted from Cas’ cheeks to his hair, lightly tugging at the dark strands. As fast as the kiss devoured him it left him empty as Dean stepped out of Cas’ embrace and smugly perched himself on the edge of the bed. 

This was it. This was Dean’s idea of punishment—death by blue balls. Cas adjusted his rock-solid erection, chewing his bottom lip as he looked at Dean through his lashes, waiting. It seemed Dean always wanted to have the upper hand. Well, Cas had evened the playing field once, and he was bound and determined to do so again. Underestimating him would surely be Dean’s weakness; the image of Dean falling apart first last night had him eager to begin whatever charade of a game Dean intended on playing. So, he waited for Dean to make his move for one can’t play the game without first understanding the rules. 

“I want you to show me.” Dean leaned back on the bed, his voice commanding. “Show me what you saw when you were spying on me.” 

“Any one or my favorite one?” Castiel mused. 

“Just tell me.” Dean’s voice was a soft growl. Cas closed his eyes, picturing his favorite time he saw Dean masturbate, the mere memory causing goosebumps to erupt on his skin. It was perfect. 

“You came home from work rather upset.” Cas’ voice dropped an octave beginning his tale. “You paced your apartment, angrily throwing back a few beers.” Cas opened his eyes to see Dean gazing at him with such intensity. “You went to your bedroom and locked the door.” Cas fiddled with the hem of his borrowed t-shirt. “You took your shirt off first.” Cas raked the shirt up and over his head before dropping it to the floor. “You ran your fingers down your torso, teasing and inviting.” Cas ran his fingertips down the side of his ribcage, not missing how Dean licked his lips in response. “Next you took off your pants.” Castiel popped the button on his jeans, sliding the zipper down and shimmying out of the garment. 

Stepping out the jeans, Cas was sporting spot stained boxers and confidence. He padded towards the bed, crawling into the center up on his knees. Dean’s face was nothing short of feral, ready to pounce at a moment’s notice. This was the game Dean wanted to play and Cas wasn’t going to stop now. He licked his lips, tracing his fingers along the waistband of his boxers. “You crawled into the middle of your bed.” Cas found a bottle of lube in the nightstand drawer next to the bed. It was reassuring to know Dean kept some things the same. But Cas didn’t want to jump ahead, he dropped his voice lower. “I watched you take your boxers off as if they offended you.” Cas hooked his thumbs in his boxer’s waistband, pulling them all the way off and tossing them at Dean’s face. Castiel flashed Dean a shit-eating grin as he fisted himself loosely, earning him a snarl from his onlooker. 

Cas closed his eyes, enjoying the slow drag of his hand on his cock. “Mhm, you started slow, going all the way down then back up and twisting at the tip.” Soft moans escaped his lips from his ministrations. He could feel the mattress move but didn’t stop pulling on his dick or open his eyes, instead pulling his bottom lip between his teeth to muffle some his softer moans. Heat curled in his belly; Cas knew he was going to play himself into the corner if he wasn’t careful. 

The irony of the situation didn’t evade him, funny how the watcher became the watched. Cas threw his head back, opening his eyes in search of the lube, he needed to take things to the next level. He stole a glance at Dean, who had managed to wrangle himself out of his shirt and was tenting his pajama pants. God, those freckles were sexy. Cas bit harder on his lips as he popped the lid of the lube bottle, pouring a generous amount on his fingers. 

“Dean,” Cas said, the name falling from his lips as he circled the tight ring of muscles, his breath hitching. 

“Tell me, Cas,” Dean commanded, “Tell me what happened next.” 

Cas swallowed hard, shuddering as he pushed in the first finger, enjoying the slight burn. “You,” Cas moaned as he added a second finger, “You fingered yourself open beautifully,” his voice no louder than a rough gasp. Dean scooted closer, the inches between them feeling like miles. As Cas added a third finger, his patience with this pretense of a game was running thin. His fingers brushed against his prostate, eliciting a full body shudder. 

Cas rocked back onto his fingers, his dick slapping against his stomach and leaving wet droplets in its wake. Finally, Dean took mercy on him, taking off his boxers and pajamas all in one swoop before trailing his hands down Cas’ sides, murmuring soft praises. One hand wandered further down, leaving teasing touches on Cas rock solid length, the other circling around back to remove Cas’ hand from his fluttering hole. Cas cursed softly as his back hit the mattress, then Dean grabbed his calves and dragged Cas back towards him. 

Dean gathered Cas’ wrists in one hand, pinning them above his head while reaching into the nightstand with the other. A low growl came from Dean as Cas pushed his hips up to brush their cocks against each other. With a hard squeeze on his wrists, Dean leaned down to whisper, “I’m going to fuck you.” Cas moaned, throwing his legs around Dean’s waist, “But for your punishment, you can only cum when I say.” Dean leaned back, searching Cas’ face. The rules were set, all he needed to do was agree. Cas nodded, swallowing hard. He was already aching on the cusp of the edge from Dean’s hoarse voice. Fuck, Dean would be the death of him yet. 

The nod spurred Dean into action, bringing the foil packet to his teeth to rip open. A new spurt of precum leaked out as Cas watched Dean slip on the condom one-handedly like a pro. All the nights he watched Dean with his partners, he never imagined he’d be one of them. 

Dean didn’t take long to sink home. Cas arched his back, tightened his legs around Dean’s waist, and both men moaned once Dean was fully seated. Dean was more than well-endowed in size and girth. The flying feeling returned as Dean set a relentless pace, soft curses occasionally leaving his lips. “Is that all you got?” Cas rasped out. Dean smiled smugly, slipping a hand underneath Cas’ hips. The new angle had Dean striking Cas’ prostate on every thrust. 

Flying. Cas definitely felt like he was flying. As Dean stuck his prostate again, Cas finally understood why Icarus decided to fly into the sun. Dean was his sun, beautiful in the sheen of sweat highlighting his rugged muscles constricting every time he snapped his hips. There was also a certain beauty in setting the world on fire and watching from the center of the flames. Cas felt his entire body engulfed in the fire that was Dean. 

“Beg me.” Dean thrusted harder. “Fuck.” Dean gripped Cas’ wrists even harder, and the pleas came tumbling out on command. “That’s it, so good for me sweetheart.” The pet name had Cas whimpering; he was on the edge flying into his sun with no remorse. “Cum for me, Cas.” 

He was burning then he was falling. There was a certain triumph in falling after choosing to soar, his back arched, and he was painting the two of them with his release. His mind blanked as the only thing he could feel was pleasure. Dean pulled out and crawled up Cas’ body, releasing his hands so he could rip off the condom, and with two hard strokes he came on Cas’ face with a silent shout. 

Cas licked at the spend on his face, humming. “Taste like latex.” Dean let out a chuckle, rolling off Cas onto his side. 

“Fuck you,” Dean said, chest heaving up and down as he tried to catch his breath. 

“I think you just did,” Cas teased. Dean caught his breath and crawled out of the bed, offering Cas a hand. They padded into the bathroom, and the shower felt more intimate than the sex. Soft touches and even softer praises were traded between the two. When the water started to run cold, they exited the shower. Dean handed Cas a towel before leaving and fetching them new clothes. Cas thought maybe he’d get to keep this set, although he wouldn’t be too upset if he lost them like he lost the last pair. 

Dean pulled on his hand, and Cas realized he’d follow Dean anywhere as they trudged down the stairs. Cas stole a glance at the basement door as Dean pulled him into the living room to settle on the horrendous checkered green couch. Despite its looks, it was rather comfy as Dean flicked on the old television to some sort of western. Cas quirked an eyebrow and Dean just shrugged, cuddling up to Cas and pulling Cas’ arm to lay across his chest. Cas let out a soft laugh, Dean was ever the contradiction. A sex god yet a cuddle monster. 

Placing a small peck to the top of Dean’s head, Cas settled in to watch the western. He never quite understood Dean’s obsession with cowboys, but then again Cas wasn’t sure he quite understood Dean like he thought he did. Oh well, if he woke up in hell tomorrow for his choices it would have been worth it. 

After the second John Wayne movie, Dean stirred, standing up and disappearing into the kitchen. A beat passed and Dean returned, a shy look on his face. Cas tilted his head; this was an odd look on Dean, he was almost blushing. Cas watched in amusement as Dean did his trademark hand through his hair scratching slightly at the nape of his neck. Dean let out the breath he was holding, stalking towards Cas slowly. Looking up with curious eyes, Cas couldn’t help but wonder just what Dean was up to. 

Dean brought up his hand to cover a fake cough. Cas rolled his eyes fondly at the antic before he noticed Dean was holding out his hand. Dean looked down, then away. “Um, so you can call your editor,” Dean said, fake coughing again. Cas quirked an eyebrow, he had honestly forgotten all about his asshole boss. His eyes flickered between Dean and the cellphone in his hand he was offering. Reaching for the phone, it felt more like a beginning than an ending. 

_Three weeks, two days, seven hours later (for counting seconds is obsessive)_

Dean grunted, retying his bootlaces for the third time that morning. His phone vibrated in his pocket, and his partner shot him a questioning glance as Dean snorted at the message. 

**Stalker: Nice underwear today, orange is your color. Or maybe I’m sucker for a man in uniform.**

“Who’s got you smiling partner?” Benny said, his southern drawl dragging on the word partner as Dean glanced around the coffee shop, not spying an unruly dark head of hair. 

“No one,” Dean answered, but relented at Benny’s I’m not buying it face. “Just a friend.” His phone vibrated again. 

**Stalker: Awe, I’m not your boyfriend? **

Dean shot back a short no, as he did a double take around the room again. Picking up on Dean’s apprehension, Benny glanced around the coffee shop as well. 

**Stalker: Ouch, my non-existent feelings are hurt.**

“Such a dork,” Dean laughed, and Benny gave an even bigger questioning stare. Dean pocketed the phone to order his coffee, looking forward to getting off work and seeing his not-boyfriend. Benny shook his head and left Dean to his secrets, figuring Dean would tell him when he was ready. 

_Four weeks, three days, fourteen hours later_

The checkered couch was still horrendous, but Dean was fond of the ugly thing and always managed to change the subject when Cas strongly suggested he get a new one. He didn’t want to admit the stupid thing was beginning to grow on him. It was broken in enough one could sit perfectly cuddled up on the side with a good book, which is exactly what Cas was doing. 

_If only the world was as simple as it once was, kill or be killed_, Cas thought. He was reading Beowulf, enjoying the literature that highlighted simpler times in his eyes. He heard a door open but didn’t bother looking, instead his eyes were glued to the page. 

“Help me,” a man rasped out, “Help me.” Cas lifted his eyes, annoyed at the intrusion. Blood seeped through the man’s clothing as he clutched at his side, wobbling forward. 

Sighing, Cas marked his page. “At least bleed on the couch, I’ve been trying to get rid of it.” The man stumbled forward, slumping into the couch cushions. The man’s face was pale, and his breath came out in hard pants. Cas gave him an unimpressed once over, he had shady brown hair, a little stubble, and honestly looked like a sleazy creep. 

Cas set his book aside. “How many?” He asked, voice seeping boredom. 

The man lolled his head to look at him, wetting his sandpaper lips before pleading, “Help me please.” 

Cas flicked his eyes from the man to the other room then back at the sleaze. “Tell me how many, and maybe I will.” 

The man took a beat, swallowing hard then panting out, “Four.” 

Cas relaxed into the couch. “Ah, he’ll show no mercy. You really shouldn’t have hurt them.” 

The man’s raspy voice filled with a biting anger. “They,” he panted, “deserved it.” The man’s eyes drooped. Cas knew Dean wasn’t done with him yet if he only had two stab wounds. This cat and mouse game was Dean’s new favorite. 

“Careful, if you don’t apply pressure to that wound you’ll bleed out.” Cas smiled at the sound of nearing footsteps. Stepping into the room, Dean was always one for the dramatics as he twirled his favorite talon-shaped blade around his finger, sporting his infamous Winchester smile. He was an Adonis even with arms covered in small crimson droplets. 

Castiel closed the distance in record speed, cupping Dean’s face. He knew Dean hated being interrupted, but he looked so damn delicious. The world faded as Cas kissed him senseless with Dean returning his kiss in kind. He knew there’d be consequences for letting the sleaze ball bleed all over the couch, but as Dean deepened the kiss, all he could think was to hell with it. Consequences be damned.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! I hope you enjoyed. This sex scene was my first and I learned a lot through writing it so don't be too tough on me for it. Love you all, Alice.


End file.
